The Delaware ledger. (Newark, Del.) 1879-19??, 1887-09-03
IN THE DARK.


countable thing | ever knew. l
don't think | am superstitious, but
l can't help fancying that"
Ethel left the sentence unfinished,
wrinkling her brows in thought
full frown as she gazed into the
depths of her empty tea-cup.
"What has happened? ?" Iinquir-
ed, glancing up from the Money
Article of the Times at my daugh-
ter's puzzled face. Nothing uncan-
ny, l hope : You haven't discover
ed that ghost is included among
the fixtures of our new house?"
This new house, the Ccdars, was a
pretty, old-fashioned riverside villa
between Richmond and Kew, which
l had taken furnished, as a summer
residence, and to which we had only
Just removed.
Let me state, in parenthesis, by
way of introducing myself to the
reader, that |, John Dysart, am a
widower with one child the blue
eyed, fair-haired young lady who
sat opposite to me at the breakfast
table that bright June morning
and that l have been for many years
the manager of an old-established
Life Insurance Company in the
city.
"What is the mystery ?" l repeat
ed, as Ethel did not reply.
She came out of her brown study,
and looked at me impressively.
"It really is IL mystery, papa, and
the more I think of it the more puz-
zled / am"
81 am in the dark at present as to
what it may be-" l reminded her.
Something that happened last
night. You know that adjoining
my bedroom there is large, dark
closet, which can be used as box
or store-room ?"
"I had forgotten the fact but | will
take your word for it. Well Eth
el?"
"Well, last night was restless
and it was some hours before | could
sleep. When at last | did so | had
a strange dream about that closet
1t seemed that as l lay in bed
heard a noise within, as if some ont
were knocking at the door, and q
child's voice, broken by sobs, crying
pitiously Let me out, let me outp
thought that l got out of bed and
opened the door, and there, crouch.
ing all in a heap against the wall
was a little boy pretty, pale, little
fellow of six or seven, looking hal
wild with fright. At the same mo
ment l woke"
"And 10, it was a dream !" l fin
ished. eff that is all Ethel--"
"But it is not" she interposed
"The strangest part of the story ha.
to come. The dream was so vivid
when | awoke up sat up in bed
and looked towards the closet door
almost expecting to hear the sounds
again. Papa, you may believe me
or not, but it is fact that / did heai
them, the mpfiied knocking and the
pitiful cry. AS l listened, it grew
fainter and fainter, and at length
ceased altogether. Then | summon
ed courage to get out of bed anc
open the door. There was no living
creature in the place. Was it not
mysterious ?" she concluded. What
can it mean?"
glanced at her with a smile, as
refolded the paper and rose from
my chair.
"It means, my dear that you had
the nightmare last night. Let me
recommend you for the future not
to eat cucumber at dinner"
"No, papa" she interrupted. q
was broad awake, and heard the
child's voice as plainly as l even
heard a sound in my life"
"Why didn't you call me?"
81 was afraid to stir till the sound
had ceased; but if / ever hear il
again, l will let you know at once"
"Be sure you do. Meantime, sup
pose you come into the garden"
continued, throwing open the French
windows; "the morning air will blow
all these cobwebs from your brain. y
Ethel complied, and 70 the present
heard no more of the subject.
Some days passed away, and we
began to feel quite at home in our
new quarters.
A more delightful summer retreat
than The Cepars could hardly be
imagined, with its cool, dusky rooms,
from which the sunlight was exclud-
ed by the screen of foliage outside 4;
its trellised veranda, overgrown
with creepers, and its smooth lawn,
shaded by the rare old cedar-trees
which gave the place its name